Winter Still
by SirusPolaris
Summary: One day, without a doubt, she’ll find a place where he can’t follow her.


**A/N:** Good Christ, I need a life (seriously). I've spent far too many hours trying to perfect this one-shot. This story has been taking up space on my hard-drive for almost a year, and it's only been through watching _Tin Man_ on DVD like a crazed fan-girl did I find the inspiration to finish it. It's taken me a long time to get there, but I think I accomplished my original goal-- to write a Cain/DG story that follows age-old standby of "DG is engaged to someone other than Cain" that doesn't portray the betrothal to be a ploy to get Cain's attention in the end (I think I'll stop there to keep from giving too much of the story away in the author's notes). Anyways, hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

P.S.

Thanks to my good friend Penni for beta-ing. Penni, you are amazing.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or profit from _Tin Man_, it's characters, or anything else created by Sci-fi.

* * *

"And I am a writer, writer of fictions  
I am the heart that you call home  
And I've written pages upon pages  
Trying to rid you from my bones  
I am a writer, I am all that you have hoped on  
And I've written pages upon pages  
Trying to rid you from my bones  
My bones  
My bones

(And if you don't love me let me go)" ~ _Engine Driver_, The Decemberists

* * *

**Winter Still  
**

He still can't say no to her, even after all of the ridiculous stunts she's put him through (he's gone against his better judgment more times than he'd like to think about because _someone's_ got to be there to keep her out of trouble, because he's promised to protect her, but mostly just because she's looked him dead in the eye and asked for his help). So when the world is put right at last and their adventures are over and she asks him in that sweet voice to stay with her and her newly-reunited royal family, Cain cannot shake his head and turn away like he wants to, not when she's staring at him with those vulnerable eyes shining with hope.

He can only nod stupidly, mechanically (he can hear the creak of corroded joints grinding together, like a door swinging on a pair of rusty hinges) as he promises to follow her. After all, he's been following her since the first day they met, when she talked him into walking the Old Road south to Central City—he's got the shape of her back memorized, has imprinted the way her hair falls at the nape of her neck into his brain like a brand.

Still, even as he gives her his word and shakes her father's hand to seal the deal, he still can't shake the unsettling feeling that churns in his stomach like a tornado in a cornfield, the feeling that somehow he's bringing about the beginning of his own undoing. His instincts are screaming at him and flashing the emergency lights but he can't refuse her warmth when he's been left out in the cold for so, so long (there's snow condensed around his organs and an icicle lodged somewhere in his heart but when she smiles he can feel his insides _burn_).

He wants to say 'no' to drown out the chorus of 'yes' that sings in his brain when she asks him anything.

He wants to say 'no' (but here's the thing—he's always been damn fool).

* * *

Cain and DG are not friends, not exactly. They do not share secrets or inside jokes or lengthy conversations about their feelings (because Wyatt Cain does not _do_ what DG refers to as "girl talk"). Mainly, his relationship with the princess is one full of not-so-hidden concern for her safety when she goes and does something stupid and monologues about Other Side culture that he half-listens to (because most of the time he has no clue what she's talking about) and long afternoons chasing after her when she runs off to explore the palace grounds. They're not friends—more like comrades. She's his royal highness and he's her official warden, and though they've traveled together and depended on each other and though he's so _fond_ of her, Cain refuses to let himself get swept away by her sweetness and her charm (he knows what would happen if he did, and it's unacceptable—he's twice her age and a military man under her mother's employment, for Ozma's sake).

Still, their basic relationship offers him many practical excuses to simply be around her, to bask in the warmth she seems to emit like a small supernova. He tries not to think about how much he enjoys shadowing her throughout her day, how all of his dull, metal pieces feel better when she's around (he's scared to get used to it because one day, without a doubt she'll find a place where he can't follow her).

He knows that one day she's going to meet a nice boy (and she does), and he'll ask for her royal company at some stuffy formal gathering (which he does) where she'll wear a dress that matches his suit jacket, and eventually, because she's lovely and exasperating and wonderful, he'll ask her to marry him (he'd be crazy not to).

Cain knows this, and understands that once the princess chooses a consort he'll have to relinquish his subtly-overprotective guardianship over her because what man would let his wife roam the palace in the constant company of another man, no matter how innocently the time is spent? And knowing DG's penchant for unintentionally charming others (everyone loves her, _everyone_, and he can't stop it any more than he can stop a bullet with his bare hands), a smart husband would not let another man near her for the rest of their lives unless he's willing to put up with at least a dozen men drooling after her like love-struck school boys.

Still, when DG happily (eagerly, _ecstatically_) accepts the marriage proposal of the Gillikinese Duke it's all he can do to shake the man's hand with a grip that's slightly too tight to be entirely casual, when all he really wants to do is clench his fist and put a bloody crook in the Duke's stupid, perfectly straight nose.

There's only one thing that prevents Cain from methodically knocking out every single one of the boy's teeth—it's DG's giant smile and the way her eyes shine when her fiancé laces his long, tapered fingers with hers. For her, Cain throws all of his efforts into holding a tight smile as he woodenly congratulates the pair with a formality he can't remember ever using on DG (she doesn't seem to notice his frosty civility, or if she does, she ignores it).

Still, even the brilliance of her blissful smile cannot hold him there, cannot keep him from stalking away once Glitch moves forward to give his best to the new couple. Because watching her glow beside her future husband makes him feel like he's once again plunging into the icy waters at the Northern Island after falling from a tower window—there's a violent shock like charged lightning licking at his nerves and then nothing but vast, unbearable cold and a dull, barely-registering throb where a piece of shrapnel may or may not have struck his heart.

* * *

The boy's name is Henry, and despite how hard he tries Cain can't find anything viably wrong with him.

Henry is smart, well-read, handsome, and like his father before him, a charitable and just leader. He is frustratingly charming, exceedingly kind, and he catches on much faster to DG's endless ramblings and Other Side references than anyone else save for her father and her nurture units (much to her delight). He was one of the many suitors her mother's advisors had lined up for her after the Gale Dynasty was properly restored, and the only one to have lasted more than a week (DG had taken a shine to him from the get-go, but it was his brassy wit and sense of humor that made her keep him around).

It goes without saying that Cain hates him.

"Princess Dorothy has told me much of your adventures," the duke mentions once, while waiting for DG to finish wrestling into a formal gown for dinner. "And of your heroic actions, I might add. You are a brave man, sir."

He responds with a disinterested grunt, one hand stuffed into his duster pocket and the other idly tracing the contours of his pistol's hammer. To his credit, Henry's polite, even smile doesn't falter even under the hard glare the Tin Man sends him from the beneath the brim of his hat (she's been dating him for two weeks now and Cain can't figure out how much longer he's going to have to put up with the Gillikin's idiotically friendly chatter before she comes to her senses and ditches him like all of the whey-faced suitors before him).

The boy charges on cheerily, mirroring Cain's posture by leaning his shoulder heavily against the wall and inadvertently wrinkling his expensive suit jacket.

"The princess speaks very highly of you and your service to her and her family. She seems very fond of you—she never misses a chance to tell me what a good man you are," Henry says (this probably shouldn't please him as much as it does, but he can't tamp down on the pride welling in his chest like a balloon). "She's funny like that, you know? She saved the O.Z. from witch and restored her mother's throne, but she hardly lets herself take any credit for it—she always insists that it was her friends that covered the real heroism."

At first, Cain says nothing, but it soon becomes apparent with the weighted silence that follows that Henry is waiting patiently for some kind of uplifting response. Cain bites back an exasperated sigh.

"She's a good kid," he says at last, "the kind that downright forces you to do the right thing…" He remembers back to their first conversation (their first argument, the first of many) and how her naïve, beautiful optimism forced a sternness into her tone that surprised him, before adding, "even if she can be pain in the ass, at times."

He half-expects the scandalized look that crosses Henry's face for speaking so informally about the Princess Royal. But the look quickly dissolves into something warmer as the boy smiles that stupid, crooked grin that always makes DG's eyes brighten, and Cain can feel that unsettled feeling in his stomach disrupting the chill settling around his heart.

"Yeah," Henry says, staring softly at the closed door. "I know exactly what you mean."

Later, after the dinner is over and the royals have retired for the evening and DG is safely in her room and Cain is alone in his, he thinks back to that quiet, longing look on Henry's face. It's a look that Cain recognizes well—he's seen it on Glitch whenever the adviser catches a long stare from the DG's sister. He's seen it on Jeb when asked about his squadron's blonde medic. He's even worn it himself, on his and Adora's wedding day.

It is that look, combined with the strange, troubled feeling churning in his gut that drives his fist straight through his bathroom mirror with enough force to shatter the glass and split his knuckles (he hates DG for the ache in his chest, and he hates Henry for existing, but mostly, he hates himself for being such a giant fucking idiot).

* * *

Since their engagement became official, it's been all he can do to avoid seeing them together without completely shirking his duties to DG. It feels cowardly to hide from them but he's not sure if he's ready to cope with the burning sensation that needles him under his skin every time that Gillikinese punk puts a move on his princess (Glitch considers his aversion to Henry as the result of what he's labeled as Cain's Boy Scout Syndrome. Cain considers it the result of pure stupidity).

He can't avoid her completely (never could). Every once in a while, he's required to accompany them on some formal outing or another, trussed up in a soldier's uniform with a starched collar and a five pound duty belt, forced to watch her parade arm-in-arm with her future consort to meet with foreign dignitaries and make public statements to the citizens of the O.Z. DG is youthfully radiant in this new role, strong and sure even under such heavy political responsibility (she takes to the job like a fish to water, her easy charm, subtle grace, and ability to reach out to the hopeless and broken make her a perfect ambassador for the recovering country).

Her position, and by proxy, that of her family, is further secured with a member of Gillikinese royalty at her side. The couple is a proud symbol of the Gale Dynasty, powerful and young and beautiful (he hates how damn _nice_ they look together, like an illustration out of a fairytale book). Her happy, love-struck smile is like acid to his already corroded parts, breaking him down bit by bit with every sighting (she burns him away until there's nothing left).

The only thing that keeps him from quitting completely are those rare moments when their gazes meet and for the briefest second, he thinks he sees something in those giant eyes of her that give her away, a flicker of a shadow in her otherwise bright composure. He has no idea how to interpret it, this tiny hiccup in her happiness-- it's there for just a _second_, there a heartbeat and gone the next (and suddenly she's happy and glowing with her love, love, love, and he wonders if he'd ever really seen it at all), but it's enough to stir up a gut-feeling of suspicion and concern, enough to keep him around just to make sure.

And so he skulks around the palace grounds like a stray dog, absently fingering the hammer of the pistol at his hip and half-wishing that there was something to hit, a danger to face, an enemy to fight, so that he might displace this pent up aggravation itching in his veins.

But the O.Z. is as safe as it was since the eclipse ended. The Longcoats have been corralled from the four corners and imprisoned, and harmony has been restored to the country under the Gale rule. And Cain has nothing to distract him from DG and her stupidly perfect fiancé and the horrible tightening feeling in his chest.

He doesn't know what to do with himself.

* * *

Cain doesn't really know what it's like to have a broken heart. He's never had one (because when they shoved him, broken and bloody, into that dark, wrought iron suit his heart didn't _break_, it _died _and left nothing but a cold, black hole in its place).

And now that he's been freed and the O.Z. has been salvaged and his son has finally, _finally_ been returned to him, Cain thinks that maybe now he can stop feeling like a hollow, wind-up toy soldier masquerading as a Tin Man. Maybe now his heart can start to grow back to fill the rotting vacuum in his chest.

Only it doesn't and he's left with a gaping hole where his heart should be because as soon as there was enough of it for her to hold on to, she stole it (he looks at the princess with her dark hair and her blue, blue eyes and her glittering engagement ring and feels tired, rusted, and emptier than ever).

* * *

"Hey!" Her voice echoes through the marble corridors, bright and bouncing in the dark, cavernous hallways of the palace. "Wait up!"

He pauses momentarily, debating with himself whether it would be worse to ignore her completely rather than letting her catch up with him. A quick glance over his shoulder and he can see her running, flat little sandals clicking on the tile floors and the skirt of her expensive white sundress flying out behind her (he tries not to think about how the sight of her knocks the wind out of him, or the way he _has_ to wait for her because his body refuses to move).

"Y'know," DG tells him when she catches up, looking as out of breath as he feels, "for someone who's supposed to keep a close eye on me, you sure are hard to find."

A brief flash of guilt warms him uncomfortably—he hasn't been doing his job, and they both know it.

"Sorry, kid," he tells her tightly. "I didn't mean to be so scarce lately."

The princess shrugs, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "It's alright. It's probably not your fault. I've been real busy with the wedding, anyways, and… it's just been insane…" She trails off tiredly, her expression becoming drawn and serious. He doesn't like that look on her face—it's the look she gives him when she wants to say something important but doesn't know how (it's the same look she gave him the day of the eclipse before they marched into battle, and damn if it didn't make that empty space inside of him clench and throb). She fiddles awkwardly with the hem of her skirt, as if unsure of what she wants to say.

"Well, if that's all," he says, breaking the uncomfortably thick silence. "I'd better be going; your mother asked me to see to a few things and…"

"I missed you," she blurts before he can finish his sentence, and looks immensely relieved afterwards. "You've been God-only-knows where for the past few weeks and I was beginning to wonder if you decided to go back to hating or something."

Cain balks at that. "I never hated you."

DG stares hard at her shoes, looking bashful. There's a bow in her hair, a white ribbon that gleams against the darkness of her tresses; she looks like a little girl and Cain hates himself all the more for that.

"I know, I know. Look, I know I've been really distracted with the wedding and everything, but I…" She frowns, and it's completely unfair how adorable she looks with her brows furrowed and her lips pouted out and down-turned in frustration. "Never mind. I just want you to know that I miss spending time with you. Just because I'm getting hitched doesn't mean that we can't still be friends, right?"

He wants to tell her he doesn't think they've ever been friends, not really, but those eyes… Those damn blue eyes pierce him firmly to the spot, force him to growl out a "right" just to make them brighten (he does his best to look put-upon when a smile splits her face and she embraces him tightly—he hates hiding from her but he can't bear for her to see him like this, all tarnished and empty).

And as she beams up at him with a face full of honest-to-God joy he can feel his chest tighten the slightest bit, and he's torn between wanting to smile back and wanting to hit something.

He dreams of her that night, dressed in that white sundress and surrounded by the blooming flower gardens at Finaqua. Her eyes are bluer than a clear summer sky, bright enough to blind him, and she's looking back at him over the bare, sun-freckled skin of her shoulder and it is in this moment that he's so sure he loves her (she is the light that illuminates all of the darkest places in his heart, she is the warmth in the winter, and when she looks at him he feels so full and happy that he thinks his heart might burst).

"I missed you." Her voice is warm and smooth like honey, and when she turns to face him fully he feels a heat on his face like he's looking at the sun.

The princess smiles at him, and he's dazzled for a moment, awash with the scent of orchids and posies and the sight of her dizzying beauty. He hasn't felt this calm in years.

"Don't marry him," he tells her suddenly, the words slipping out of him like water from a pitcher.

Her smile softens into something so intimate and sweet that Cain actually feels himself swoon, completely and utterly lovesick.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Cain," she says with a giggle that would normally make Cain feel ancient, but in this moment makes him feel weightless and free. The ribbon in her hair quivers and spins, the ends brushing his cheek when a breeze kicks up from across the lake. "I'm not marrying anybody."

She climbs to her feet, bare toes curling in the lush green grass. The sun halos her from behind and every part of her _glows _in the light. She grins down at him and extends a small, pale hand for him to take.

"Come on, Tin Man." He's mesmerized by the shape of her mouth, full pink lips moving to frame his name. "Come catch me!"

He chases her for the rest of the night, through the hedge maze and around the clear, still waters of the lake. It the happiest he remembers feeling since finding his son alive after eight years of separation (his first good dream in decades).

He wakes up that morning alone in his giant bed, feeling old, out of place, and all day when he closes his eyes he sees the wisp of her white skirt disappearing behind bends and hedges, always fluttering just out of his reach.

* * *

It's the night before her wedding, and he can hear her crying through the wall they share (in the beginning she insisted that he stay in the palace, but he was the one who requested the room next to hers, so he would always know when she was trying to sneak off). The sound is muffled by her pillows and sheets and an insulated wall, but it's more than enough to keep him awake. She's been at it for hours, he figures as he shifts awkwardly in his own bed, trying to abolish the urge to go to her room and calm her cries (he's her bodyguard, her Tin Man and not her friend, and it's just not his place).

The soft, hiccupping sobs she's trying to keep so quiet are like cannon fire to his ears—they rip into his chest like shards of glass and make his knuckles ache for something to break. He prays for the sounds to stop, prays to be suddenly struck deaf, prays for her stupid fiancé to finally make himself useful and comfort her like a fiancé should—anything to stop her tears and prevent himself from doing something he'd most likely end up regretting later.

Another fifteen minutes crumples his resolve like wet paper, and before he can rethink his decision he's knocking on her door, knuckles rapping dully against the elegantly lacquered wood (he shouldn't be here, he _knows_ this, but the damn girl has always had a way of getting him to do stupid things). At the sound, she cuts off with a start, stopping mid-sob and from the door he can hear the rustle of sheets as she fumbles out of bed.

The door cracks open the tiniest bit to allow her to peer out, and from where he's standing he can only see a sliver of her in the waning light of the hallway—a bloodshot eye blinks up at him, still wet around the edges.

"Hey," she says in defeat, as if not at all surprised to see him standing there. Her voice is muffled, raspy from the tears and what little of her face he can see is blotchy and red (his previous assumptions were right, she must have been crying for hours).

"Hey," he answers, feeling awkward (it's like he's fifteen all over again, lanky and unsure and so, so bashful and God does he hate himself for the way he fidgets so slightly under her expectant gaze). Before he can lose his nerve, he asks, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, sure," she says immediately, trying to sound upbeat and failing miserably. Even the smile she musters is weak and unconvincing. "Everything's great… really, Cain, everything is… is…"

He's in the door before her face starts to crumple, heavy arm coming instinctively around her small, shaking shoulders as he leads her back into the protective darkness of her room. Her silk nightgown is so thin and he can feel the contours of her skin through it. The empty space where his heart should be is pulsing and writhing inside of him, twisting erratically and making him dizzy (this is definitely the worst idea he's had in a long time because now how is he ever going to leave her to be some other man's wife?).

She flops unceremoniously onto her four poster bed with a loud sniffle, tears already tracking down her pale cheeks in hot, sticky rivulets. It hurts to see her like this, so young and so sad, but he can't bear not to look at her. Her dark hair is mussed from sleep and looks like ink with only the moon shining through the window to illuminate her, and despite the puffiness of her eyes and the redness of her nose she's still beautiful enough to compress the air in his lungs and leave him breathless.

After some hesitation, he seats himself beside her on her rumpled bed, his weight on the soft mattress causing them to sink together and press the curve of her hip into his (his brain shuts down for exactly three seconds at the contact, rebooting only after the sound of her blowing her nose into a handkerchief brings him back to the somberness of the situation). They sit in relative silence for a long moment, side by side and lost in their own respective thoughts before, unprompted, she speaks.

"I don't know what I'm doing." The tears have dried some and her voice is a little stronger now, but he can still hear the cracks in her foundation widening. "Am I making a mistake?"

He has about a million answers queued (has had them prepared alphabetically ever since the day she set her big, blue eyes Henry), but the pressure of her wide, trusting gaze prevents him from saying what he's wanted to for so long. What good would it do when she has a wonderful life with luxuries he's never even dreamed of and a perfect prince who loves her (_really_ loves her, as much as Cain hates to admit it? What could a used up man like himself ever give her in his life that wouldn't lessen the quality of her own? He wants his body to stop aching when she's around, he wants to quell the weariness left when she's not around but more than that, he wants her to be happy. In the end all he really wants is for her to keep smiling like she's been smiling, like she's got the whole world figured out to be as strangely wonderful as she is, and everything she's ever wanted has just fallen neatly into her lap.

He knows what it is he wants but he can't give in, he _can't_—to do so would mean to lose his sanity, his mind, and his faith in himself (what little there is left).

"What do you think, kid?" he asks instead, watching the way she absently twirls the ring around her fourth finger, pressing it hard into her dainty knuckle.

She seems to flutter like a nervous animal as she shrugs, caught somewhere between fight and flight and he can feel another onslaught of tears building like a tidal wave somewhere inside of her—for a brief moment he panics, unsure of what to do (he, Wyatt Cain, seasoned Tin Man and no stranger to the horrors of the O.Z., goes half to pieces at the tears of one little princess). She's trembling again, her breathing uneven and when she buries her face in her hands and cries and cries and cries he feels something inside himself actually _collapse_.

With a sigh, he tucks her into his side, rubbing her arm in a consoling way while she whimpers hollowly into her palms (he can feel every muffled sob that way like a kick in the ribs—he deserves this, the awful torture of her perfume and her tears, he deserves an eternity of this for wanting her so bad).

For precisely two and a half minutes he listens to her broken crying before DG pulls her hands away from her wet face to fist them in her hair, sucking in a ragged breath that Cain feels in his very bones.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know." Her voice shakes and shivers with unshed tears—he can see them glistening, swollen on her lashes. She sniffs noisily and bows her head, her fingers once again returning to their anxious game of playing with her engagement ring. "I love Henry. _Love_ him. We're talking Westley and Buttercup kind of love, here. He's smart, he's funny, he's sweet, he gets who Westley and Buttercup are with minimal explanation—he's the whole package and I _want_ to marry him."

She doesn't look to him for any sort of response before continuing (which is good, because after that little tirade he's too wrapped up in a mix of confusion, jealousy, and plain old heartache to formulate any sort of commentary that doesn't end with him begging her not to go through with the wedding). She just swipes angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand and leans into him a little more, until he can feel the wetness of her cheek as it dampens the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.

"It's just that the wedding is tomorrow and after that we'll be _married_… I mean, this is a huge deal! I'm only twenty years old… I didn't think I'd be married until I was thirty at least. I've never even been to a wedding, let alone been in one. I don't even know how to be a wife. Because even though the O.Z. is all matriarchal and gender-equal in most respects, how do I know he won't expect me to be some royal Donna Reed as soon as we say 'I do'? I can't cook, I hate cleaning, and I don't look good in hoop skirts! What if that's what expects of me? I mean, my tinkering in with the army's transport vehicles are fine because I'm just his fiancé, but will he stand for his _wife_ to be covered in engine grease? How am I supposed to handle that? If this were Kansas I'd knock his lights out and that would be that, but I can't here because I'm supposed to be _Princess Dorothy Gale_. Do annulments even exist in the O.Z.? How do I know I'll be happy being with Henry forever? Forever is a long time! Everything's happening so fast and now I'm getting _married_ and… what if he's not _it? _What if he's not _the one?_ What if it doesn't… work?"

DG's mouth is moving a mile a minute, and if Cain wasn't already so engrossed with its shape and motion he'd probably have lost her somewhere back around 'Donna Reed.' As it is, he follows her rambling (if only just barely) with what he hopes comes off as a concerned expression rather than an exasperated one. DG has tried countless times to explain the wonders of the Other Side's television dramas (but he never does catch on, and the more he's in the dark the further away from her he feels).

"Why not postpone the wedding until you're sure? A few more weeks couldn't hurt," he says, gruff voice fighting for softness.

"And that's another thing—it wasn't my idea to get married so soon," she replies with a sniffle, and despite her tears he can sense those blue eyes hardening with annoyance and frustration. "But Henry wanted it to be official as soon as possible, and then our advisors made all of these plans and now the whole country is gearing up for this big shindig and mother and father have spent all this money on _gowns_ and _cake_ and _flower_ _arrangements_ and we _can't_ postpone now."

With an exhausted sigh she turns into him, hot breath ghosting across the bare skin of his chest and raising his blood pressure exponentially (he has to focus of the glint of moonlight off of her engagement ring to keep his head straight—he stares hard into the diamond perched upon her finger, tries to use it as a distraction from the way his heart is racing, tries to summon an image of her fiancé's face, and fails on both accounts).

"Look, sweetheart," he says, shifting nervously, "I'm no good at this sort of thing… maybe we should find your sister."

She shakes her head, a few stray curls falling to brush against his collarbone with the motion. "Please, just… tell me one thing, and then you can go back to bed and we'll forget you ever saw me blubberin' like a big baby."

Immediately his guard is up, because DG never passes up an opportunity to talk to Azkadellia, and she never settles on asking just _one thing_ (give the girl an inch and she'll take the mile, the road itself, and probably half your heart if you're not paying attention). He knows better than to walk right into what feels like an obvious setup. Still, he doubts any man could withstand the glow of those tear-rimmed eyes as they silently plead with him to stay, be her _friend_, to _talk _her through her troubles and bring the smile back to her face.

Cain's frown deepens as he turns to give her a stern glare, feeling trapped, but he acquiesces with only a nod. "One thing, and that's it, DG."

This earns him a watery smile and some much-needed space between them as she sits up properly, facing him eye-to-eye (the space where her body had been pressed tightly into his side is cold with her absence, and he forces himself not to mourn the loss of her warmth). DG's smile falters just for a moment, and from past experience Cain knows that whatever she's about to say is going to make him very, very uncomfortable.

"You were married," she ventures cautiously (every conversation about Adora since her death has been on eggshells, and while Cain loves her—will always love her because she was first love and his wife and the mother of his son—he's tired of hearing her name only spoken in whispers). "How did you know she was… you know, _it? _The one?_"_

She looks so young, so innocent, looking at him like he's the key to solving all of her problems—the moon casts a shadow over the right side of her face but her eyes glow almost unnaturally in the dim light and all at once her question feels like a loaded one (he hesitates before answering, wary of disappointing her).

"We were young," he says at last, absently folding his right hand over his left (the empty strip of skin on his fourth finger feels too exposed, too light). "And we were in love. Ain't much more to it than that."

DG scoffs in a decidedly unladylike manner, pinning him with a skeptical look. "That can't be the whole story, Tin Man," she says. "What was she like? Why did you want to marry her?"

It takes him a moment to regroup—it's been so long since anyone had asked about his marriage, let alone asked for his advice on the subject and he has no idea how to respond (he doesn't know what to say or how to say it without giving himself away because Christ, how is he supposed to describe his love for Adora when he's still so hung up on the girl in front of him).

"She was a farmer's daughter," he says at last. "Prettiest damn thing I'd ever seen. And I when I looked at her…" he exhales, a slow, even release as he pictures the calluses on his wife's palms, the freckles along her cheekbones, "… I could see my entire future."

It's not much of an answer, but it's enough to satisfy. Beside him, DG goes very quiet and very still, obviously taking her time in chewing through his explanation and working it thoroughly through her mind. He waits patiently, content just to feel her ribs expand and shrink with every slow, even breath she takes—the tears have stopped completely and she's calmer now, which does all sorts of good for his nerves, and her steadying pulse is enough to distract him from the way the back of her hand idly brushes his whenever she gives her ring a particularly hard twist.

After a long pause, she speaks in a voice so low and weary he almost doesn't recognize it as her own. "It's not the same," she says at last. "It's not the same at all."

This surprises him, thrills him as much as it frightens him (he has no idea what she's thinking, and for the first time since they've met he's not sure if he really wants to know). She can destroy him right here, right now, completely obliterate whatever's left of his sanity and crumble him to rubble in an instant, with just a _word_—and she'd never even know she was doing it. When she turns to face him fully he has to fight the urge to panic, to get up and flee before she can voice whatever's bringing such tiredness to her tone, but before he can react she's shifting at the hips and pivoting just so until he's paralyzed under the weight of her eyes, helpless to free himself. He's blinded by her, completely and utterly overwhelmed and it's all he can do to just stand there and let her ruin him (because she will, she has to, because nothing in his life has ever been easy or good and why should this be any different?).

"Cain," she says in a whisper, eyes wide and boring into him, her hand burning his knee through the fabric of his trousers, "tell me not to marry him."

He looks back into those horrible, wonderful eyes and for a moment it almost, _almost_ seems possible.

(She's looking at him so intently, like he's the only man in the world and holy God, if he leans in just an infinitesimal bit he'll be kissing her).

He can't do it.

In the end, all he can do is pull her to him into a tight embrace and sigh into her hair, savoring what must be her last moment as his girl, his Princess, for as long as he can before he sends her off to wed somebody else (he's _promised_ to take care of her, to do right by her, and no matter how much he wants to keep her for himself he knows that this is for the best).

She says nothing, only clings a little harder to him when she feels him breathe before silently releasing him and crawling back into bed while he retreats to the door. As she reclines, she curls away from him so that he can't see her face when he turns to say goodnight (this hurts him more than it should, her silence and stillness enough to rock him hard enough to break). His whole body is thrumming with something like adrenalin and something like pain, the rusted pieces of his heart crumbling to dust as he bids her a formal farewell and closes the door soundlessly behind him.

After leaving DG's room, Cain returns to his soft, comfortable bed and doesn't sleep at all, just lies and stares at the ceiling and counts all the ways he hates himself until long after the sun rises the next morning.

* * *

It rains the next day, water coming down in sheets and ruining the landscaping that the Queen had redone for her daughter's big day. The hordes of expensive, high profile guests that had been invited to the wedding now stand miserably in ankle-deep water while well-dressed, soggy-looking ushers try to herd them indoors until the rain lets up. It would almost be funny, seeing these pampered politicians and their wealthy allies soaked to the bone while all of the wedding designer's decorative finery gets swept away with a flood of rainwater if he didn't already have a rough idea how expensive it was to import the hundreds of star blossoms that were now being torn apart by the weather (he's sure somewhere, Glitch is having a complete fit over the mess).

Cain watches from the palace foyer as a couple of kitchen hands frantically try to rescue the eight-tiered wedding cake from the elements—he probably shouldn't be as amused as he is to watch the men struggle to maneuver the giant, frosted thing over a slippery stretch of muddied ground, but at least it's something to distract himself from the numbness that's been settling into his chest since he'd spoken to DG the night before (when he closes his eyes, lids scraping together like sandpaper, he always sees the look on her face as she rolled his name across her tongue and asked something of him he couldn't bring himself to give her).

"It's just rain, Captain," a smooth voice cuts into his musings and when he turns, he's only half-surprised to see Azkadellia standing beside him. Her make-up is mussed, her hair-do half-destroyed and her elegant gown clinging to her oddly because it's wet, but she's giving him a smile that reminds him of DG (this is the most human he's ever seen her). "Nothing to look so serious about."

Cain tries for a wry smile, but only succeeds in turning his frown into a neutral line as he turns his attention back to the ruined flowers scattered across the grounds. "I'm sure your mother would think differently."

"I suppose," she answers humorlessly, dark eyes following his. Together, they stand in respective silence, quietly watching the rain turn the palace grounds into a lake of mud and water. Distantly, Cain wonders if Azkedillia has the power to stop the rain, bring the suns out from beneath the cover of dark clouds and dry up the puddles accumulating at their feet. However, whether she can or can't is immaterial—the woman next to him makes no move to put an end to the water pouring heavily from the sky, only watches with a strange sort of melancholy that he recognizes immediately in an 'it takes one to know one' kind of way (she's just as broken as he is, just as miserable, but she's still polished nice on the outside whereas he's sure his rusted pieces are showing through clear as day).

After a beat, the eldest princess folds her slender arms over her chest and sighs audibly. Before he can ask, she speaks. "I'm sure my mother's main concern is locating her missing daughter while attempting to placate Henry's family in the meantime, rather than worrying about ruined flower arrangements."

His rushing blood skids to a stop in his veins and he snaps his head down to look at her, eyes sharp and mouth hard. "She's run off." It's not a question.

Azkedillia only smiles sadly, her eyes softening around the edges as she turns to give him a look that's too intuitive for his liking. He's got no clue what she and DG talk about when he's not around or what parts of last night have been discussed, but that look on the older princess' face is enough to give him an idea, and it makes him nervous.

He doesn't wait for her to elaborate—with only a moment's hesitation he strides through the open doorway and into the downpour, paying no heed to the water that soaks him within seconds as he plows across the courtyard, forcing servants and dignitaries alike out of his path with no more than a well-placed and meaningful glare.

Azkedillia watches him go with a knowing expression on her pale, perfect face (he cannot see it, but he can feel her eyes on him as he stalks away, quiet and soft as they follow him until he turns a corner, and is out of sight).

* * *

It doesn't take much searching—within an hour, he's tracked her down and cornered her in her mother's rose garden. She stands out like a star among the dark green of the bushes with her white gown and white skin and white light, opening and closing rosebuds with a flex of her hand (the tiny yellow blossoms flicker in and out of sight when she moves her fingers, winking like fireflies around her).

She's soaked to the bone, wearing a dress that costs more than his life and trailing its hem through the mud like the white, pearl-embroidered gown was nothing more a cheap hand-me-down—she's got dirt spattered up to her knees and he's sure that each one of her five petticoats is equally ruined (her mother would be furious). What once must have been a very elaborate hair-do is now a mess of sad, soggy curls hanging heavily around her face and down the pale plane of her back, her veil sitting skewed and waterlogged on top of the mess.

(She's still the most beautiful girl he's ever seen in his life).

"Hey," he calls to her over the patter of the rain, and she pauses from playing with a particularly stubborn bud to look up at him. Her eyes are electric in the cold of the rain—so bright against the pallor of her skin—catching him off guard and sending his head spinning.

"You found me," DG says softly, a small smile crooking the corners of her pink lips. Her nose is red and her eyes are swollen—she's been crying, that much is obvious, but it's the smile she's wearing that worries him (she's too pretty, too damn pretty and he's not sure he can bring himself to drag her back).

Cain forces himself to frown, spitting out rainwater as it rushes into his mouth. "You're gonna catch your death out here."

His uniform is sticking to him uncomfortably, the stiff collar growing limp and his dress shoes flooding with mud (he can feel the pulse of water on the top of his head, and all at once he misses his hat, his duster, his life traveling with DG before the eclipse—it was dangerous and difficult but at least there was no fiancé to muddle their dynamic). DG looks equally miserable, goosebumps standing at attention along her bare shoulders—still, her smile only grows, warding away the chill in the air.

"I'm not going back, Cain."

Her words condense and hit him like a wall, and it takes him a moment to remember that he's supposed to be angry about that. "DG, you've got two royal families out for your blood and a fiancé who's getting tired of standing at the alter. He ain't gonna wait forever."

DG's smile falters a little at the mention of Henry, her glow fading just for a moment. She turns her attention back to the rosebush, and with a wave of her hand all of the buds close simultaneously, leaving her alone in her brightness against the dreariness of the day (he tries hard not to focus on the way water beads along her bare shoulder blades and travels down her spine).

"Good, he shouldn't," she answers firmly. "Wouldn't be fair of me to ask him to, anyways."

Cain fights the urge to grit his teeth. He's definitely the wrong person for this job—how the hell is he's going to be able to convince her to go back and marry that stupid Gillikin when he can't stand the idea himself? He knows the right thing to do would be to bring her back (drag her back by her hair, if he has to, because that's what's best for her), to put aside his own selfish wants and tell her it's just cold feet. But damn if seeing her standing there, looking for all the world like a star dropped to earth, doesn't make it that much harder for him to forget how much he loves her.

"What are you doing, kid?" His voice is like two stones rubbing together, sounding as brittle as he feels, but the princess only hikes up the muddied skirt of her heavy white gown and treads softly towards him, footsteps drowned out by the drumming of the rain.

She doesn't answer straight away, only touches the silver badge pinned over his heart with the tips of her fingers (her mother had given him that badge personally when he'd formerly accepted the position of Captain of the Royal Guard, had smiled at him and told him he was a good man for the things he'd done for his country). His ears roar when she smoothes her palm over the polished metal, her eyes hooded as she opens her mouth to speak.

"What you said last night, about your wife," she says softly (it's not a real answer, but at least she's talking). Her hand has traveled to fiddle with his collar, rubbing the dark gray fabric between two slim, pale fingers (Cain fights for air, tries to remember how to breathe—he wants to take a step back out of her grip and get his head straight but he can't seem to get his legs to cooperate). "It got me thinking about... about everything. My life, my future, Henry's future, our future together… And I realized that I can't go through with this wedding. It would be a mistake. I can't marry Henry."

He lets that hang in the air for a moment, caught somewhere between silent celebration and complete and utter dread.

"Thought you said you loved him," He has to grit it out, for her sake. The sentence stings the roof of his mouth and settles on his tongue in a way that makes him feel a little sick.

DG closes her eyes and sighs, face tilted up to the rain, allowing her hand to fall from his collar and hang limply at her side, its paleness blending in with the white of her dress. For a terrifying second, he thinks she might start crying again (she's so still, so calm, it frightens him). But she only blinks up at him with eyes bluer than any sky he's ever seen, lips softly quirked. Those eyes wrench at his insides, warp them until he's so bent and dented up that he can't function—all he can do is wait, shuddering beneath their gaze (if he tries, _really_ tries, he can pretend that those shivers are from the chill of rainwater creeping down the backs of his knees, not from the electricity that thrums through him whenever she catches him with that doe-eyed stare).

"I do love Henry," she replies gently, voice almost too quiet to hear over the patter of rain hitting the earth. "I love him a lot."

She's studying his face, searching for a reaction—he clenches his jaw to keep from giving himself away. "But I know now that I'm not _in_ love with Henry."

Cain exhales the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There's a lock of wet hair sticking to her cheek, and he has to ball his hands into fists at his side to keep himself from reaching out to her and smoothing it away (this is what he's wanted for so long, for her to look at him and tell him the wedding was off, but he can't do anything about it just yet, not until he's sure).

"Tell me," he murmurs, an edge to his voice that tells him it's on the verge of breaking but he can't stop now, not here. "Tell me _why_, DG."

She's smiling for real now, big and bright and even with the wet chill sinking into his metal pieces she still makes him feel warm all over (she has to know what she's doing to him, how could she not?). Those eyes, those sweet, perfect blue eyes are piercing him straight through that empty space in his chest, filling it in with something soft and warm and true and for the first time in what feels like forever, Cain feels his body constrict with something other than pain and sorrow, feels his heart (his flesh and blood heart) swell with joy. His princess is smiling at him.

"Because when I see my whole future…" DG slips her cold, tiny hand into his and squeezes, twining their fingers and letting him feel the heat radiating out of her palm. Her eyes meet his, and he stops breathing altogether. "… it isn't when I'm looking at him."

There's a coil somewhere inside of him that shudders and unwinds, releasing tension that has been building since the day she'd accepted that two hundred platinum engagement ring. Something swells as his chest tightens, leaving him short on air (she's filling him up, surging through his vessels and it feels like drowning).

"DG--" he gasps, water rushing into his mouth—he'd forgotten about the rain, couldn't hear it over the drumming of his own thundering heartbeat.

"Tell me not to marry him."

With her white dress and her bright eyes and her sweet, gentle smile, he's reminded of that night when he dreamed of her laughter bouncing across the smooth surface of Finaqua's lake like a stone while he chased her white skirt through the hedge maze (_come catch me_).

She's pressing against him now, cold and wet and shivering—he can feel the stiffness of her bodice against his stomach as she leans into him, closer than she's ever been but still not close enough.

"Wyatt," she whispers reverently, meaningfully (she's never said his name before and it physically hurts him to see her lips curve around the word). "Tell me not to marry him."

(He never could say no to her).

Cain breathes her in, burning from the weight of her eyes on his and thinks, God. Please. "Don't marry him."

If she was glowing before, she's shining now, more brilliantly than any jewel or star and it's enough to completely wipe his mind of all the reasons why this is a mistake (her parents will be appalled, Jeb will see it as a cruel betrayal, they'll both be buried in scandal but he's beyond caring when she's so close, finally, _finally _in his reach). There's water collecting on her eyelashes, dripping from the tip of her nose, and her beaming smile is enough to knock the fight right out of him (he never wants to forget how she looks right in this instant, carves her image into his memory).

And then, DG—young and beautiful and still dressed in her ruined wedding dress and wearing another man's ring—arches herself up on her tiptoes and kisses him, in the midst of all the rain and the elements, puts her rosy lips to his and breathes life into his mouth (this is everything, _everything_).

The taste of her—this intoxicating combination of rain and sunshine and the sweet, heady flavor that is distinctly _her_—is enough to completely obliterate his last shred of restraint (he can't get his hands on her fast enough). Before his brain can catch up with his body, he's crushing her to him, digging a hand into the hair at the nape of her elegant neck and moving his mouth desperately against hers—he doesn't deserve this, not one bit, but he's so tired of letting her slip away from him.

She's the girl who released him from his tin prison (she's the one who set him free). And for the first time since they've met, he's not chasing her and they're finally on even footing. He sighs against her lips, unsure of how to tell her how he feels, how to explain to her about the metal parts that don't work and the void in his chest, but when she pulls him to her, palm hot against the badge pinned to his vest he can feel those parts begin to move and the void begin to fill.

They both know that she cannot make him new again, cannot take away what the years in the suit have done to him. But when DG smiles and whispers 'I love you' against the parted line of his mouth he can feel the cracks in his foundation beginning to fill, her light illuminating every dark place inside of him.

He is an old, broken man with a silver badge and she is a young princess named after the most powerful woman who ever lived.

He is dull, tarnished metal, a basin of broken pieces, but when she touches him, God, she makes him shine.


End file.
